For a long while Evelina remained perched at the threshold of her room, uncertain whether stepping through would lead her closer to freedom or simply deeper into Kairo's trap. His words echoed in her head: "You may explore. Break your hands against every window. I'll watch. I'll enjoy it."
Her palms sweated against the polished doorknob, even though the door stood wide open. Was this freedom? Or was it another performance he demanded of her, another game where she played the desperate bird while he sat back and laughed at her struggle?
Still, to remain inside was worse. The room had become suffocating, thick with the smell of her own fear, heavy with the weight of invisible eyes watching through hidden cameras. Slowly, with her breath caught in her throat, Evelina stepped into the hall.
The corridor opened wide, gilded with chandeliers and lined with paintings that seemed to watch her. Their eyes followed her down the hall, saints and monsters framed in gold, reflecting a luxury so obscene it made her stomach turn.
The further she walked, the more she realized the scale of it—the mansion was vast, an endless labyrinth of dark wood and velvet, every surface polished, every light strategically placed to blind her with Kairo's wealth.
Finally, she reached a sweeping staircase. The balustrade gleamed beneath her fingers as she descended, her bare feet silent against the marble steps. When she reached the first floor, her breath caught.
People.
Servants moved quickly and efficiently across the grand foyer and adjoining hallways. Some carried trays of drinks, some polished already spotless floors, others arranged fresh flowers in vases taller than Evelina herself. It was as if the mansion lived in constant motion, all of it in service of one man—Kairo.
Not a single servant looked surprised to see her. Their expressions were composed, distant, as though her presence had always been expected. Evelina's heart raced; she wondered how many of them knew what she truly was here—guest or prisoner?
One woman, dressed in immaculate black-and-white uniform, approached her. She bowed lightly, her voice smooth, practiced. "Sir would love to have dinner with you tonight… wearing this dress, Mrs. Volkov."
The words struck Evelina like a whip. Mrs. Volkov.
Her lips parted, but no words came. Mrs. Volkov. As if she already belonged to him, as if she had already been claimed, renamed, erased.
For a moment she wanted to protest, to scream that she was not his, that she still belonged to herself. But the servant's calm, unblinking gaze made her swallow the words back down like poison.
She forced her voice steady. "I… I will."
The servant bowed again, handing her a box tied with black silk ribbon, before disappearing down the hall without another glance.
Evelina clutched the box to her chest, her stomach turning. The mansion seemed to hum around her, alive with secrets she couldn't yet unravel. She returned to her room and opened the box.
The dress inside was stunning. Black satin that shimmered faintly blue beneath the light, the neckline modest but the fabric hugging every curve. It wasn't a gown—it was armor designed by Kairo himself, shaping her into the role he envisioned.
Her hands shook as she slipped it on, as though wearing it meant surrendering another piece of herself. In the mirror, she barely recognized the woman staring back.
When the servant returned to guide her to the dining hall, Evelina followed silently, her feet light against the carpet as if she were being led to an execution.
The dining hall itself was cavernous, a table stretching so long it seemed to vanish into the shadows. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, casting fractured light across the surface of polished mahogany. Every detail screamed of Kairo's power—the wealth of centuries condensed into one suffocating room.
He was already there.
Kairo sat at the head of the table, his suit perfectly tailored, his dark hair falling carelessly across his forehead. When his eyes lifted to her, the weight of his gaze nearly buckled her knees.
"Mrs. Volkov," he greeted smoothly, the mockery in his tone unmistakable.
Her throat constricted. She wanted to scream at him for that name, but the servants lingering at the edges of the room made her hold her tongue. To expose herself here would only amuse him more.
She sat where a chair had been prepared for her, directly beside him, close enough that his cologne drifted toward her like smoke—rich, dark, suffocating.
The servants began to set dish after dish before them—roasted meats glazed in honey, delicate soups in porcelain bowls, bread so fresh it steamed when torn apart. Cutlery gleamed on either side of Evelina's plate: forks, spoons, and—most importantly—knives.
Her eyes lingered on them.
The thought bloomed in her mind before she could stop it. A knife. Not large, not heavy, but sharp. She could take one. She could hide it. It wouldn't be enough to kill a man like Kairo—not yet—but it could be her chance. A chance to defend herself when the moment came.
Kairo ate calmly, sipping red wine as though none of this carried weight. Evelina lifted her fork with trembling fingers, pretending to eat, her eyes flicking back and forth between the food and the silverware.
Her hand slid casually toward one of the smaller knives. She timed her movement between bites, her pulse hammering in her ears. With delicate precision, she slid the knife beneath the folds of her dress, tucking it against her thigh.
Her heart raced. Her breaths came shallow. I did it…
"Interesting."
The word froze her blood. Slowly, she lifted her gaze.
Kairo's cold , steel grey eyes glinted in the light of the chandelier, fixed directly on her. He swirled his wine lazily, lips curling into a smile that chilled her more than any shout could.
"You think I don't notice?" His tone was soft, almost tender, but edged with danger. "That I wouldn't see every twitch of your hand, every glance you steal toward the knives?"
Evelina's body went rigid, her hand pressed tightly against her thigh where the knife now felt like a burning brand.
He leaned closer, his breath brushing against her ear. "You've taken something that doesn't belong to you."
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
In a movement so swift she barely registered it, his hand slid beneath the table, gripping her wrist. The knife clattered against the floor as he pried it from her grasp with effortless strength. The sound echoed like thunder in the silent hall.
Kairo drew back, holding the knife loosely between his fingers. He examined it as though it were a harmless trinket, then set it back onto the table, perfectly aligned with the rest of the silverware.
"You're bold," he said at last, his voice rich with amusement. "Desperate, but bold. I like that."
Evelina's chest heaved, shame and fury burning in her veins. She wanted to curse him, to scream, but his gaze pinned her to her seat like a predator toying with prey.
"Do not mistake boldness for strength," Kairo continued, his tone sharpening. "If you wish to survive in my world, Evelina, you'll need more than trembling hands clutching at kitchen knives."
He raised his glass once more, as if the conversation were nothing more than dinner etiquette. "Eat," he commanded smoothly. "You'll need your strength."
Evelina lowered her eyes to her untouched plate, her pulse still racing, her body trembling with both fear and defiance.
The knife lay gleaming on the table between them, closer to him now than to her.
Her chance had slipped away.
But she swore silently, with every ounce of fury left in her—next time, she wouldn't fail.
To be continued...